Understanding
by speshulduck
Summary: Everyone seeks a friend with which to share their troubles. Even John Munch.


Title: Understanding  
  
Author: duck  
  
Character/Pairing: Munch/Jeffries (gen), mention of Stabler/Cassidy  
  
Summary: Everyone seeks a friend with which to share their troubles. Even John Munch.  
  
Author's Note: Written for the 2004 SVUFicathon.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, this is me crying over that. See? Tear.  
  
-----  
  
When I find myself in times of trouble  
  
Mother Mary comes to me  
  
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.  
  
And in my hour of darkness  
  
She is standing right in front of me  
  
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.  
  
-The Beatles, "Let It Be"  
  
-----  
  
A man runs blindly through the darkness. The rain pours down on his exposed head, but he doesn't feel the wetness as it seeps down his neck and through his clothes. The streetlamps are out; all the electricity in the area has been knocked out by the wicked thunderstorm that's been pounding the city for the last several hours. The man takes no notice as a jagged fork of lightning splits the sky. The thunder that chases on its heels doesn't startle him. The world has simply faded away until all that remains is his overwhelming need to find the solace of her.  
  
The apartment buildings are illuminated in another flash of lightning and the man slows, realizing he has almost arrived. His frantic pace drops off abruptly as he stumbles to a stop in front of the building he has come to know so well. He stares dumbly at the door, wondering how to let her know he needs to be let in. The call box requires electricity and he knows it's too much to hope that the door will be open. He steps under the awning almost hesitantly, reaching out to test the door. Locked. Of course.  
  
He digs his hands in his coat pockets, searching for his cell phone. He fumbles with it as he brings it out of his pocket, stabbing at the speed dial buttons and hoping to hit the right ones. She always used to get his phone to work for him; technology just wasn't his thing. He holds it to his ear, clinging with the desperation of a hopeless, drowning man. He did not want all this, did not want to know.  
  
She answers and he blurts out that it's him and that he needs to talk to her. He almost wishes it back, thinking perhaps she's with someone and not alone, so dreadfully alone, as he. That he continues to run to a former partner for comfort and companionship in times of trouble speaks volumes on his sad state of affairs.  
  
She tells him she'll be right down, but that the elevators are predictably not working. He lets out a relieved sigh as the connection clicks dead in his ear. Had he disturbed her from another romantic tryst -- he groaned at the memory of three weeks ago -- he didn't think he'd be able to look her in the eye any more.  
  
He leans against the door, pressing his forehead to the glass. Though the air is cool, he's hot from his mad dash from the station house. What should have been a quiet night spent at home with books tuned into a night of catch-up work and confessions. Things he hadn't wanted to hear.  
  
His eyes slide shut as he focuses on the cold glass, focuses on anything but what Elliot told him earlier. He can't get away from it and it replays over and over in his mind.  
  
"I'm sorry, John."  
  
"Sorry for what?"  
  
"Sorry that I did this to you."  
  
"It isn't you."  
  
He is quite grateful when the door lurching open disturbs him from the thoughts. He stumbles forward a bit, his support gone. He feels her strong arms catch him easily as he opens his eyes to look up into her face. There is nothing but understanding written there and for the first time all day he feels calmed. She gives him an exasperated -- yet slightly understanding -- grin as he pulls away from her and straightens himself. She recognizes his attempts to regain lost pride at displaying such an overt need of comfort.  
  
"John," she acknowledges, a smirk in her voice if not on her face. She tilts her head briefly in a half nod. He mirrors it.  
  
"Monique."  
  
"A hat or umbrella too much trouble?"  
  
He sighs deeply and her expression turns serious. "You don't know the half of it."  
  
"This is going to be a long night, isn't it?"  
  
"Perhaps."  
  
"And I had so much I planned to get done."  
  
-----  
  
John considers sitting on her couch, but, not wanting to ruin her furniture with his rain-soaked clothes, decides against it. As if she can sense what he's thinking, he hears her voice call out from the bathroom, "You can sit down. A little water never hurt anything."  
  
He shakes his head and shimmies out of his trench coat, hanging it up next to the door, before lowering himself into his familiar place. In the eight months since she *hasn't* been his partner, he's spent more time here than when she was. He came over one night to see how she was doing and ended up coming back nearly every week. They talked about anything, though most of the time was spent discussing the safe territory of work. Occasional forays into personal discussion were inevitable, and while he derived a great deal of comfort from it, he avoided it for the most part.  
  
"Here," she says as she emerges from the bathroom, tossing a towel at his head. He barely diverts it in time and gives her his best annoyed look over the top of his glasses. She just smirks at him and settles down next to him. "So what brings you out in the middle of a thunderstorm?"  
  
"Just wanted to continue the riveting discussion we had last week about the Bay of Pigs."  
  
"What, you mean that one-sided rant of yours? I get it. No one else will tolerate listening to you for more than five minutes, so you have to come here. Is that it?"  
  
"It's not that no one will listen to me, it's just a matter of why do it with anyone else when I could have your beautiful company?" He leers at her, but even that doesn't have its usual force. They're always like this, flirting casually. He knows it's perfectly harmless and will never lead anywhere. It's a stabilizing force, a steadying hand upon which he can briefly rest.  
  
"John," she says, a friendly warning in her voice. He knows he should just tell her the real reason he's here. Judging from the candles and book resting on the coffee table in front of him, he probably disturbed her from a quiet evening of relaxation.  
  
"Elliot told me something tonight," he says without any real introduction. "He told me that he and Brian Cassidy used to sleep together."  
  
She stares at him for a moment, her mouth partially open in shock. He imagines it must be very similar to the expression he wore when Elliot told him. He lets her flounder for a few moments, giving her time to recover herself.  
  
"As in your former partner Brian Cassidy?" He nods. "And Elliot as in Elliot Stabler?" He nods again, perversely amused by the shock and disbelief on her face. "But why?"  
  
"Elliot's not really sure." She snorts at that. "He thought Brian needed a bit of guidance and settling down--"  
  
"So he *slept* with him?"  
  
"He did try talking first," John offers. Just telling her about it is already making him feel better, though the fact that she's having nearly an identical reaction to his certainly helps too.  
  
"But the phrase 'used to sleep together' implies multiple times."  
  
"I know." Their eyes lock momentarily. He knows his expression is most likely too mournful for his own good.  
  
"Do I have to pry everything out of you with a crowbar?"  
  
"There are details I'd rather not consider; things I don't quite understand."  
  
"Like what?" she asks, her face softening as the realization she's hit on his problem crosses her face.  
  
"Like why he felt the need to sleep with everyone in the damn squad."  
  
"It's a powerful urge," she sighs. "The need to sleep with someone."  
  
"I didn't mean it like that, Monique," he says gently. He's almost forgotten entirely the reason she was processed out of the SVU. Talking about Brian's impulse to sleep around was only going to make her feel bad and make him look like a callous asshole.  
  
"I know you didn't, but I know how he feels. It's almost like you can find a validation to your life, a sense of freedom that you couldn't get otherwise." She pauses, considering him with her usual thorny gaze. "You ever feel that?"  
  
He thinks about it for a moment, trying hard to remember what his misspent youth had been like. "Well the Sixties are a blur, and the Seventies aren't looking much better."  
  
"No jokes," she reminds him.  
  
"It's a defense mechanism."  
  
"I know," she says, smiling affectionately. "But it makes you one difficult man to talk to."  
  
"Ah, but I have evaded the question, haven't I?"  
  
"Answer it." There is no room for disagreement in her tone.  
  
"When I was younger yes. But that's when sexual promiscuity equaled freedom from the oppression of our parents' generation--"  
  
"It's not very different now, John," she interrupts. "Don't make this about some generation gap. I think you understand Brian's actions better than you'd like."  
  
"But why Elliot? And then Olivia? Don't tell me he slept with you too?" She shakes her head vigorously. "Some small favors, at least."  
  
"We all respond to working sex crimes in different ways, John," she reminds him.  
  
"I thought he was having trouble adjusting to the concept of sex after working with the deviance," he grouses. "Instead he's sleeping with whomever's available."  
  
"Two people is hardly 'sleeping around.'"  
  
"It is when they're your immediate coworkers!" He breathes in deeply, trying to find his calm again.  
  
"Want me to tell you what I think of all this?"  
  
"I couldn't stop you if I wanted to," he says, far too much exhaustion in his voice than he'd like. He doesn't want to stop her really. This is why he comes here, for her to tell him what she sees from an outside perspective. He can trust her to be completely honest with him.  
  
"I think you're jealous he didn't come to you."  
  
"I--"  
  
"Don't interrupt me," she commands. He purses his lips, but remains quiet. He knows he wouldn't do that for many people. "I'm not saying it's about the sex, though don't even try to deny you would. He went elsewhere to seek refuge from the job. You don't think he trusted you -- his partner -- to help with the troubles he was having."  
  
"So you're saying he did it because he was having issues with the working in Special Victims?"  
  
She exhales sharply in irritation. "Who cares what it was about? It's the most likely cause, yes, and I know he talked to Cragen about it too."  
  
He feels a wave of sadness hit him. Knowing Brian talked with the captain only makes him feel worse. "So he went to everyone in the unit but his partner, the one he's supposed to be able to go to about problems. Or I may even have been the problem."  
  
"John, you're not a problem to anyone."  
  
"I always drive people away."  
  
"You didn't drive me away. And Fin seems to be putting up with you just fine." Her gaze is nothing but reassuring. "You can be a difficult man to deal with sometimes, but being around you is usually more rewarding than not."  
  
"I'm an arrogant prick, and don't you try to deny that." He resists the urge to shake his finger at her as she favors him with a bright smile.  
  
"I would never deny something so true." The familiar pattern falls back into place, the blocks of their relationship shifting and settling again. "You want to sleep here?"  
  
Of course she would never ask him if he would be all right. "No, don't want to be an aging imposition."  
  
"Let me rephrase that. You're sleeping on my couch whether you like it or not. I've just gotten you dry, so if you think I'm going to let you get drenched again, you've got another thing coming."  
  
"Did you know the phrase is actually 'you've got another think coming?'" he teases.  
  
She rises from the couch, muttering as she scoops up her book, "Only you would ever bother correcting me on something so trivial. I'll get you a blanket, you grumpy grammar nut."  
  
"But just last week you were calling me a 'bitter conspiracy theorist.' More expression of love?"  
  
"Most tease because they love," she throws over her shoulder. "I tease because I find you pretentious and annoying."  
  
He just chuckles at her retreating back, knowing she's only half serious. A low roar fills the room as power floods back into the apartment, the sudden illumination making him cringe slightly. As the brightness strikes his eyes, the idea that it's strangely appropriate hits him. She did help him out of a rather dark spot. It sounds trite even in his mind, so he focuses on her triumphant shout of "Finally!"  
  
She comes out of her bedroom, blanket in hand. Instead of tossing it at him like she did the towel, she sets it down next to him. "I hope you're not expecting to use my toothbrush."  
  
"I can deal without for one evening."  
  
"Good." She blows out the candles and heads back to her bedroom, switching off lights as she goes.  
  
"Monique," he calls out. She stops in the doorway, turning to face him with one hand resting on the frame.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
He can see the understanding in her eyes from his position on the couch. "Any time, John."  
  
And though this is only the beginning of him coming to terms with the past, he knows she means it.  
  
[end] 


End file.
